


miscreant flowers

by bubblewrapstargirl



Series: untold sunrises [2]
Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: (For 13rw), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, M/M, Married Cegan, Married Clay/Tony, Mpreg, POV Outsider, Post-Canon, Tony and Clay become mountain men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 05:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10915143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: Leo is assigned to get those squatters off the mountain. He has no idea the tug of war he's about to begin.





	1. Chapter 1

Leo Teller enjoys his job as a Sheriff’s deputy. He likes carrying a gun, likes tipping his hat at omegas that eye him up cause of the uniform, likes the plush leather seats of his squad car, and most of all likes shooting the breeze with his boys, over a cool one at Josie’s, where the beer is always free for cops. The only real drawback is his boss, an arrogant ballbuster who just loves stepping on toes.

The Sheriff is a mean, grizzled psychopath probably in his early fifties, though Leo has never dared to look it up; the man has a way of sniffing out any little secrets around him, with a manic smile and hard glint in his eyes. He married the son of the Sheriff from the next county over, and you would think it’d be some kinda nepotistic encroachment from two buddy cops, but apparently the father-in-law hates his guts, and actively argued against his appointment, after the previous Sheriff met the business end of a shotgun.

Leo has never been the type to go sniffing after another man’s omega, but it ain't a crime to look, and it’d be impossible to resist the siren song of the Sheriff's wife, who is exactly the kind of willow-thin he prefers, formed with smooth, lithe muscle. The boy is at least thirty years the Sheriff's junior, and feisty too, with a mean right hook and legs for days, model beautiful regardless of the fact his right eye was torn out in a hunting accident as a kid. He’s beautiful the way nature’s beautiful; raw, untamed and unapologetic. Cascades of brunette waves skim the blades of his shoulders, long side bangs almost constantly covering the damaged side of his face.

Leo has had the privilege to see him in action, after a boy's night that went on a little too long. He remembers the Sheriff stumbling up his porch steps, belting out an off-key tune, fumbling with his keys. The boy, Carl, had come flying out of the house, spittin’ fire, chewing Leo’s boss out for waking the babes. Full on berating Leo's nutcase boss, who he then proceeded to slap sober, and shove back down those steps into the dirt, like it was nothing.

Leo has never seen his boss retaliate to an attack by a suspect, with anything less than giddy enthusiasm and heavy handed shows of force, that regularly breach the line of police brutality. That night however, Sheriff Negan merely sat in a cloud of dust and laughed. Leo had fully expected the man to stumble to his feet and charge the boy, shake him by his hair and spit abuse in his face, for daring to raise a hand. That's what Leo’s daddy woulda done; what most alphas in the State of Georgia would do, if an omega hit them in front of their buddies. He watched in bemused, pleasant surprise as instead, Negan clawed his way into the bed of his parked truck, snuggling into the pillow and blanket that Carl must have set out for him earlier, muttering about firecrackers for wives.

Right about then Leo stopped hating his boss quite so strongly, and gained a new appreciation for how those large calloused bear paws of his could be gentle with his skinny, sneering wife, who seemed to live in a perpetual state of disgust at Negan's continued presence on earth. How Negan had managed to win over a prickly youth whose father, by all accounts, outright loathed him, a particularly foolhardy deputy once wondered out loud; unknowingly within earshot of the Sheriff. Negan had bellowed with uncouth laughter, announcing to all and sundry that they fucked ‘like champions’ and Carl had been horny as hell as a pregnant teen, practically begging to mate.

That was another thing that set them apart, quite aside from the age gap, (and Leo did some quick mental calculation, and yeah, lawd knows if Carl was legal the first time Negan knocked him up): the mating scar spreading across Carl’s neck and junction of flesh before his shoulder. It was considered extremely old-fashioned and brutal, most omegas sporting a nice civilised semi-circular scar on their left forearm. The only other omega Leo knew of with a throat scar was his Maw Maw, his mother's mother, who had yellow streaking lines across her wrinkled, aged paper-thin skin.

Still, he couldn't shake the memory of Carl flipping them off in the sallow light of his porch, while Negan drunkenly laughed, planted on his ass, on his own lawn. Carl was a petrol fire; stubborn, bold and defiant. Negan was brash, rude and manic, amused by anything dark and taboo. Carl was a wholesome ray of sunshine by comparison, in his vintage pastel full-skirt sundresses and tennis pumps, baking for the widows of law enforcement charity, and knitting baby booties for expectant omegas.

The lack of visible bruises on his wife's pale skin was one of Negan's main redeeming features, though Leo was once lucky enough to catch a flash of Carl's milky breasts, abused by stubble burn, as the boy squirmed to put them away in a wraparound blouse, after breastfeeding one of his babies, and evidently Negan too, as he was still fighting the man off. Only succeeding, by dragging Negan off his pert tit, tugging the man back by his earlobe and wrenching him off with surprising strength.

Leo still jacks off to the memory of it, Carl's heaving chest and jiggling bosoms, red from Negan's affections, nipples puffy and sore from abusive nips. Carl had smoothed his soft hand through Negan's peppery stubble, drawing him in for a tender kiss. Negan had cradled him close into his body, like Carl was a teddy bear made of glass. It was a delicate and smothering affection all at once, and it made something in Leo’s stomach twist with longing. That had been at the annual summer barbeque, Carl having gone inside, to allow his babe to suckle out of the oppressive heat; followed by a hungry horny Negan, which seemed to be the perpetual state his boss lived in.

Getting an eyeful at family events was just one of the perks of Leo's job, which he loved and hoped to do lifelong. He was still waiting to rescue a perdy omega in a drugstore holdup or take down a bandit on camera, and have said omega fall into his arms in gratitude. There just weren't enough omegas to go round in this one-horse town, and the belles moved on to the big cities to marry rich alphas who owned ranches or firms.

There were those that whispered that Mrs Negan himself could have done far better than a small town Sheriff, if not for the eye. Secretly, Leo thought Carl could have done far better just in this town; he was pretty sure the Mayor of the county, that little prick Ron Anderson, would happily push Negan off a cliff, if he could slip into Carl's bedsheets afterward. And on a day like today, when there were clouds threatening overhead, and the game on at Josie's that night, Leo might be inclined to say he’d pay, to watch such a thing happen.

Negan wanted him to go up the mountain to talk to the squatters living in the Jensen cabin. The place been abandoned since before Leo got his badge, before Negan even became Sheriff, but the past year or so it had been occupied by a young couple. Leo had seen them around town a few times, mostly in the general store, though once he had seen them at Ernest’s ice cream parlour, on what could have been a high school date, if not for the babe cradled in the omega’s arms. The omega looked about twelve, but Leo had seen the ring on his finger, and he saw the alpha buying liquor in Josie's just the other night, and she wasn't one to tolerate minors.

From here, it was almost a three hour drive, that became rough dirt terrain for the last hour or so, before he’d run out of road, and Leo would have to walk the last few miles. Up wet skree and pine forest, cause the weather had been shitty for days. Add to that the clouds overhead, Leo was cursing his existence as he reluctantly clambered in one of the off-roader jeeps, rather than his usual squad car.

The squatters living in the Jensen place been minding their own, not causing any trouble and frankly the county had bigger things to worry about. But apparently the railroad folk, who had been sniffing around for months, had finally settled on a route. It was never fun trying to relocate anyone, even just a drunk who needed separating from his barstool for the night. Leo didn't relish this aspect of his job, but someone had to shovel the shit, and today the unlucky guy with his fingers on the handle, was him.


	2. Chapter 2

The omega that comes to the door is gorgeous enough to take Leo's breath away. Leo's never seen either of them up close, neither of them coming down from the mountain often enough to form an impression. The omega’s wearing an almost see-through nightie, tiny pink flowers offset by the healthy glow of his skin. His short black hair is just long enough to tuck round his ears, parted above his left ear to sweep across his head in an extremely short bob. He jolts in surprise at the sight of Leo on his porch step, hastily removing his weather-beaten hat.

Leo smiles politely as he introduces himself and asks after the alpha of the house. It's a thin line, talking to another man’s omega alone, even in a profession that demands he sometimes do so. Leo tries to avoid staring at the nipple visible through the flimsy lace covering his breasts. He isn't here to start a territory war: not over an omega at least.

He doesn't push his luck; he remains on the porch step, neutral territory, and waits for the alpha to respond to his wife’s call. A stocky, short Italian comes barrelling out of the shrubbery separating their yard from the eastern woods. The muscles on his arms are genuine, outdoor-work earned, in sweat and toil, not pressing weights at the tiny gym off Main St.

They remain outside; the omega turns on his bare heels, those smooth long legs and pert ass, returning to the cool shade of indoors, to tend to the baby Leo can see waving tiny arms from a bassinet across the open plan room. The alpha leads him onto the porch proper, where a table is flanked by two mismatched wooden chairs, cheerful plaid cushions padding them up.

A thick air of mistrust is not easily dissipated; Leo tries to keep his tone friendly, approachable, but still frank and honest. The Sheriff's department has no grudge against them personally, pleased that they've caused no trouble and downright grateful they've assisted a few lost stragglers hiking, from time to time. But the fact is the county has plans for this land, and the time has come for them to move on now.

The alpha; whom Leo has now learned is called Antonio Padilla, rocks back into his chair with a look of disbelief, crossing his arms with a scoff. Leo wants to ask what's so incomprehensible, but at that moment the wife joins them, balancing a tray with a jug of homemade lemonade on it. Leo isn't about to turn down such a refreshment after a hike up annoying, uneven terrain. He follows his training though, and waits for Padilla to take a sip; the last thing Leo wants is to end up drugged and chained, like some scene from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

He thanks Mrs Padilla for the cool drink, as surprised as the omega is, when his alpha snaps an arm round his wife's waist to draw him toward his chair, and their conversation. Padilla repeats Leo’s assertion of their trespass, and how it had to come to an end. His wife looks equally indignant at the end of this diatribe.

Leo is about to launch into his speech about social housing, and the likelihood of assistance because of their little one, details of the caseworker assigned to them, but is stopped in his tracks by Padilla. Padilla claims he’d like to see the county is threaten to throw them off this land directly, since they have the papers to prove his wife’s family owns it.

Leo is flawed. In all the time they've occupied it, not once has it been suggested, by anyone, that the young’ns might actually own the picturesque land. Negan's going to be pissed the town hall didn't do their research, before cosying up to the railroad. But not half as pissed as Leo is going to be, if turns out he trekked all the way up here, to kick some kids off their own land, living where they have the legal right to do so.

\---

A few days into his investigation Leo is getting nowhere fast, since the only lawyer’s office is shut up on weekends, extended to three day with it being bank holiday Monday. He’s moping at his desk, hoping he can swing an early lunch.

It's a burst of sunlight every time Carl visits the station. Today no exception, when he sashays in, with one of his brood clutching the hem of his periwinkle blue sundress. Leo has a Pavlovian response to the sexy rustle of his ruffled petticoat, just visible underneath with each swish of Carl’s hips. Saliva quickly filling his mouth, Leo can only pray he won't drool at the sight of the boss’ wife.

Carl has a purple cake box in one hand, a thick paper bag in the other - Carl buys the expensive, glossy kind - and a tiny person clutching the bottom edge of his full skirt. The blue dress is covered in palm-sized cream flowers, that bounce and weave with each light step he makes, across the bullpen. Smiles and waves greet him, as Carl clucks at his son to go on and play with Romola Lopez, who is their only lady deputy. Deputy Lopez is only too thrilled to take charge of a rugrat for a while, her high ponytail of glossy black-brown hair bobbing enthusiastically, as she introduces the babe to the rows of plastic dinosaurs she keeps on her desk.

Leo chuckles to himself at the sight- Lopez can be a real ice queen, but nothing melts her like babes do, tiny fingers reaching up to hold her hand. Carl swishes on through the rows of paper-strewn desks until he comes to rest, hip cocked, against the wooden edge of Leo's own. They say howdy, Carl asking after the health of his family, Maw Maw in particular. He rests the cake box, paper bag on top, on Leo's relatively tidy desk, as Leo helplessly tries not to stare at Carl's high, bouncing breasts squeezed into the tight ruffled top of his dress.

Carl's sweet smile is all butter wouldn’t melt, front row at Church, but there's a tiny twist in his lips, a twinkle in his eyes that tells Leo that Carl knows exactly the kind of effect he has on alphas. Leo had thought that maybe sight of the younger, fresh omega on the mountain, might have curbed this unhealthy attachment he has to the Sheriff’s wife. But nothing doing it seems; Carl is still as delectable as ever, with his long brunette curls begging to be tugged, and the irresistible scent of lemon that lingers wherever he goes, from his citrusy perfume.

They make a little small talk - Leo knows full well Carl goes to Maw Maw’s nursing home, to visit his own decrepit great-uncle Hershel, every Sunday after Church. Leo saw him reciting poetry to a room of golden girls, Maw Maw included, this past weekend. Then Carl segways into the couple on the mountain, with the formidable skill of a man used to manipulating a hardass like Negan. There's not much Leo can say on that front- there's paperwork he has to chase down first.

Carl clucks unhappily, declaring that it's disgraceful, what those railroad folk want; to blow a great ugly hole through their mountain, and push that quiet young couple off the foothills besides. Then he tells Leo he ought to be ashamed, trying to throw a little babe out onto the street. Piercing Leo with that famous contempt, as he squirms in his seat and whines about following orders. Carl snorts at that, and announces he's going to bake them a cake, and introduce that pretty omega to the O Society of their county. Leo grins at the mental image of the bewildered young Mrs Padilla, cooed and clucked at by the charitable sundress brigade, twitching to escape Carl's vice-like grip as he parades around his new cause.

Right then is where their conversation is cut short.Negan leans out of his office, and bellows across the maybe ten feet separating them, with absolutely no decorum whatsoever, for Carl to quit flirting with his deputies, and bring him his damn lunch already.

Whip-fast, Carl turns, concerned features transforming into a scowl, as he hollers back that Negan isn't the only one with jobs to do. Then he primly denounces Negan as a pig, whose lazy ass ought to learn to make his own damned lunch, since Carl only brought enough for Leo. The paper bag is slammed down directly in front of him, as Leo attempts to melt into his chair. Negan's only response is to bark with laughter, and tell Carl to quit playin’.

It seems to be some kind of shortcut code, as Carl gives Leo an apologetic look and sheepishly admits he didn't come here to bribe him with food, and it really is Negan's lunch. Leo smiles, touched at the concern, and takes his own sandwich out of his top desk drawer. It's chicken mayonnaise, his favourite, with lashings of mustard and a whole heap of crunchy lettuce, crammed in one of those fancy French baguettes. Leo made it himself, having the late morning start today.

Carl gives the sandwich a dubious look, like he seriously doubts Leo’s ability to butter bread. He slides away from the desk, Negan still moaning at what is taking so long in the background, and unclips the lid of his bright purple cake box. It is revealed to be a two tier cupcake holder. Carl delicately removes the top layer, which is filled with mouthwatering sugared vanilla custard squares, and a shiny rainbow assortment of pastel macaroons. He pops a creamy yellow macaroon on Leo's desk, same colour as the flowers on his dress, followed by a red velvet cupcake, Leo's weakness.

He gets a quick look-see at the neat rows of heavily frosted cupcakes in the bottom of the big square tub, before Carl replaces the top layer. There weren't any other red velvet ones in there. Leo catches Carl's eye in confusion, further bemused by the wink he receives. Carl leans down to press a kiss to his cheek, Leo sucking in a surprised breath as one smooth hand brushes against the day-old stubble on his other cheek. In a breathy whisper that’s going to haunt his dreams, Carl wishes him a happy birthday.

Pulling back to collect his things, Carl smiles, sunshine-bright, and flounces off to Negan’s office. The sound of their bickering is quickly muted as the office door slams closed.

\---

Leo is easily persuaded to have a quiet birthday drink at Josie's, though he rarely celebrates his birthday. His Momma was real sick, and it was right around this time that she finally passed. He usually has a dinner with his remaining family the weekend nearest his birthday, and that's that. But there's nothing unusual about a drink, even at the start of the week.

He nearly jumps clean out of his skin as the townsfolk bellow surprise, and he is assaulted by metallic streamers. He even laughs when Negan claps him on the shoulder, bellowing in his ear about finally getting the party started. Josie's erected a snack area of three rickety tables; one is entirely covered in Carl's amazing red velvet cupcakes. And smack dab in the centre is an entire cake of the same mix. Leo surreptitiously tries to brush away a tear. He's never had a surprise party in his life.

He’s treated to a hug from Carl, when he sheepishly says his thank yous, not entirely convinced he’s not dreaming. Leo is folded into those smooth arms, nestled against those perfect breasts, slowly descending into lemon-scented heaven. He allows himself a moment to imagine his fantasies are real: that Leo Teller has an omega of his own, to bake for him and challenge him every day, keeping him on his toes and filling his world with laughter.


End file.
